


The Box

by edy



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Assisted Suicide, M/M, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-07
Updated: 2011-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 06:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard Way killed himself a week before his high school graduation. The only thing he left behind was a cardboard shoebox with a note taped on top that read "give this to Frank".</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Box

**Author's Note:**

> inspiration: "trade mistakes" by panic! at the disco
> 
> request: a picture is worth a thousand words

People around the school knew Gerard Way as the creepy guy who dyed his hair a lot.

His classmates knew him as the guy who sat in the corner and didn't talk to anybody.

His friends, you could say, knew him as the boy who drew amazingly, who was going to make it far in the comic industry.

His brother knew him as the best sibling in the world.

I knew him as my boyfriend.

Notice I say "knew", as in the past tense of "know"?

Well… Gerard killed himself a week before our high school graduation.

He, he said the bullying was too much. He said that it's been going on ever since he was fifteen—the year he finally felt proud enough to come out to his friends and family.

He said he was glad that the bullying died down for a bit after the I'm-gay news got around, but it started up again when he was eighteen, when he dyed his hair red, as if hair color could determine sexual orientation.

I tried to tell him he shouldn't care what the others thought, just try to stay strong, and he seemed strong for a long time, but…

It was too much for my sugar.

The newly graduated seniors had to show up at the funeral in their caps and gowns since the teachers and his mother thought it well to hold the burial the day of graduation. Stupid decision, really. No one had a smile in their graduation pictures.

*

Gerard had left a suicide note consisting of only five words. The note was crushed up in his palm, and when his mother had finally pried it from his cold grasp, she had started crying.

The note read, _I'm sorry. Please remember me._

Everybody still remembers you, Gerard.

Gerard had also left aside a Converse shoe box. There was a piece of paper taped to the lid of it, and there was duct tape all around the edges, making sure no one would get inside.

The sheet of paper on the lid said, _give this to Frank._

*

I'm dressed in a baggy pair of sweats, and my makeup is a mess. When I get home from the funeral, someone knocks on the door to my mum's apartment unit. I open the door with great difficulty and see my late boyfriend's mother. Her light blonde hair is tangled, and her own makeup is streaking down her face. She hands me a cardboard box that was safely tucked under her arm. I take it from her with shaking hands. I look down at it, glance over the note, and start to tremble from violent sobs. I have trouble trying to hold up the door, so I step into the hallway. My bare feet are instantly chilled from the hardwood floor that litters the building.

Mrs. Way and I stand in the hallway and cry for a few hours.

Around nine o'clock, I tell her I had to get back inside, and she lets me go, but not without giving me a hug first. Her small, quivering body reminds me of Gerard, and I can't help but to let a couple more tears escape my eyelids before I close the front door.

Mum doesn't question what I have in my arms as I go back to my small bedroom. I put a hand on the dull, golden doorknob, pull it back, and step into the room. I take a quick look around before plopping down on the floor, grabbing a pillow and resting it in my lap. I put the shoe box on top of it. I look at it, admiring the wording on it, letting me know this box is old—probably dating back around four years ago. I smile, finally realizing what this box is from.

I turn my head to look off to the side of my room. I spot a pair of pink, low-top Converse.

I stare at the box.

This is the home of those shoes.

Gerard had given me the Converse because he said pink wouldn't look good on him. I gladly accepted them in open arms, and I try to wear them every day.

I start peeling away the duct tape with my short fingernails, hearing pieces of paper rip away. Every tear breaks my heart a little bit. After a matter of several minutes, I get the tape away from the box. I throw the bind aside and gaze at the object.

I open it, and I immediately start crying.

Inside, there more than a few dozen pieces of notebook paper, Polaroid camera pictures in plastic baggies, and a single rose trapped in a plastic container. I cover my mouth and debate on what I should check out first.

My mind is set just seconds later. I pick up the first piece of notebook paper at the top of the stack. I unfold it carefully, and my eyes glue themselves to it. My heart skips a bit as I read the note. I slowly smile, letting my hand drop from my mouth to rest in my lap. "Gerard," I murmur.

*

I moved in with my mother to this shitty apartment building when I was fifteen. Mum had no where else to go. My father had just divorced her, letting her keep full custody of me, but taking off with half our money. We were poor, and Mum tried her best to pick out a good house for us to live in while I start anew at the high school a couple blocks from the apartment.

Our apartment, like I said, was incredibly shitty. Whenever you pushed past the heavy, smooth-surfaced, white door that closed terribly fast, you were in a medium-sized room with brown wood on the floor and icky, light-blue walls. On the far end of the room, to the right of the front door, was a small, black, patchy couch that fits two. In front of the couch was a small TV that sat on a plastic crate. The TV only showed the channels in black and white and—my favorite—static. Beside the couch was a black-and-white checkered dining table with two fold-up, white chairs on opposite ends of the table. Further on, past the table and chairs, was the kitchen. It was small, simple, and hardly worked.

To the left of the front door was the hallway that lead to the only bedroom and bathroom in the entire unit. The bathroom was a dull pink color, and it made me want to vomit whenever I stepped in it to brush my teeth, take a piss, or even take a shower. The only object in there that almost never broke was the shower-and-bath combo. The only flaw was its lack of a shower curtain.

The bedroom only had a bed, and that was just a plain mattress on the floor. It had a couple stains on it, but Mum covered those up with the sheets and blankets she had managed to keep from my father. The bedroom belonged to my mother. She deserved it.

Where do I sleep?

My room was the small hall closet off to the side of the living room and kitchen. The door was a type of wood I have never heard of before, and it blocked out sound well. The closet was the only room that didn't have hardwood flooring—it had carpet. Mum felt really bad for having to give me the hall closet as my room, and she tried to make up for it by decorating it while I was off at my first day at the high school. She had put my lamp I had since I was a little toddler on the floor in a corner. It lit up the room well in the late hours of the night. I hardly minded that it had Blue and Magenta from _Blue's Clues_ on the lamp shade. She had also placed some of my blankets and pillows down on the floor, as well, since the closet didn't come with a mattress or anything that could resemble a bed. That's the only thing I didn't mind about the hall closet. The thing I did mind?

There was a crack in the wall. It was big enough so that I could see straight into the other tenant's apartment, but small enough so they wouldn't be able to stick a hand in and touch me while I slept.

*

I came home from school one day and ran straight to my room. I slammed the door shut and shoved a pillow in my face, beginning to frantically yell. My yells had eventually turned into tears, though. I had gotten called a "faggot" for the first time ever that day. Nobody had ever called me that before, and it had hurt. I never knew people could be so mean to the new kid all because of the way he dressed. How naïve I was.

I began to get worried by the fact Mum hadn't came and checked up on me, but I remembered she had taken a job at the local diner, and she had mentioned she would be gone most of the time. At this thought, I began to cry more. We moved to the bad part of New Jersey, where most of the crimes were held, and I was scared whenever I walked home from school, I would get jumped.

Stuck in my panic attack, I didn't notice a piece of paper was slipped through the crack of my room. I heard it hit my floor and fall onto its side. I tensed up, turned my head, and furrowed my brow. I crawled over to it, grabbing it in my palm. Eyes narrowed, I did a quick look around the room, focusing on the crack in the wall. When I leaned in to look through it, I saw a hazel eye looking back at me. At first, I thought it might have been a reflection, as I, myself, have hazel eyes, but then the eye blinked, and that theory flew out the window. I jumped and landed on a few of my pillows. The person on the other side of the wall laughed, and my breath caught in my throat. I tried to let the laugh get plugged into my brain for further analyzing later tonight, but it fell through my grasp.

I roughly swallowed and looked down at the paper in my palm. I saw no other chance than to see what it said.

Small, scratchy handwriting was on the first line of the paper, forcing me to squint in order to read.

 _Why are you crying?_ the letters formed.

I frowned at it. I moved around my room to try and find a pencil or a pen—a writing utensil of some sort. I found a pen by my lamp. I put the paper to the wall and began to write the other a reply.

_I got called a faggot._

I crawled back over to the crack in the wall. I looked through it, seeing the person leaning up against the wall beside it. I noticed that it was male, and he was wearing a pair of pajama bottoms and an extremely baggy hoodie. He had long black hair that hung at his shoulders. It was wet, like he had just taken a shower. With more examination, I could tell his roots were a greenish-blue color. I bit my lip and slowly slid the paper through the wall. He didn't notice. I made a small, stupid cat-like noise in my throat to get his attention before sitting on my blanket, pulling my legs to my chest. I leaned my head against the wall, watching the boy take the paper, and then quickly write back a reply.

He passed the paper back through the wall, and I went to grab it, unfolding and reading it.

_I wouldn't care what the people at school think. It'll only just bring you down… I know how you feel, so… don't worry. I get picked on, too._

I jammed the paper back to the other side after I wrote back.

_That's cool._

I didn't need to know his life story.

He gave it back after a few seconds.

_How come we're not friends?_

I was only a little scared. I put the pen to the paper, slowly writing down my thoughts. There wasn't a lot.

_I don't know you, dude._

I lay back down on my makeshift bed, pulling my Batman blanket over my stomach. I closed my eyes, expecting the other guy to take a while with replying back to me, but I heard the sound of paper sliding against wood to the left of me. I tilted my head, curling my fingers around my pen as I reached out. I took the paper, unfolded it from the neat, little square he had it in, and read it.

_Well, I know you._

Strangely, that had started our friendship.

*

I watch as little tears sprinkle onto the paper, making the ink of my pen from back then smudge. I wipe my eyes, gazing at the sheet. I spot a date at the very top right-hand corner of the paper.

09.27. Thurs.

It's strange how it doesn't include a year.

I fold the paper back into the square it came in before putting it back into the box, reaching out to take another one, braced for more tears. I fold it out and set it on top of the box, smoothing it out, noticing how this one is wrinkled a bit. I look at the date at first. I smile.

09.28. Fri.

It's just a day after our first note.

I skim through this one, continuing to smile at various spots. We had talked about how our day went, how we had slowly begun to notice each other around the school, and how we should hang out.

But of course, we never met up outside of school until a month or so later.

*

We were in our seventh period class—the last hour of the day. We had Art together. He was a great artist, but he didn't think that. I tried to reason with him that he was amazing, and that he was going to go far if he continued like this. He just smiled at me and blushed like a cherry.

I watched him draw for a couple more minutes until it finally hit me. I didn't know his name. It had never occurred to me to even use his name before. I felt embarrassment swell up inside of me as I slowly swiveled around in my seat, turning my body toward him. I reached out a shaky hand and poked his side. I touched a rib.

He turned his head to look over at him. "Hm?" He raised a hand to tug at a strand of black hair, pushing it behind his ear.

I paused. "What's your name?"

He stared at me, and I stared back. "Gerard," he said simply. He gave me a smile after, and then returned to his drawing. He didn't act like it was strange for me to not know his name.

I nodded, lowering my gaze to the white tiled floor. "Gerard," I repeated under my breath.

"What?"

"Sorry… I was talking to myself."

It was silent for a while before he said something else. "And your name's Frank… right?" His voice was so uncertain, and his face turned a bright shade of red again. The red looked good on him, as weird as that sounded.

I nodded once more. "It is."

He grinned and shifted around in his seat. "That sounds like an old man's name."

We laughed.

"Then, you can call me something else if it disturbs you that I have an old man's name," I suggested, laughter still in my voice.

He continued to laugh for a couple seconds, and when it grew silent once more, I heard him say, "Frankie." He lifted his head, looking at me with wide hazel eyes. "I can call you Frankie?"

I smiled. "You can call me Frankie."

He slowly nodded his head and began to chew on his lips. "Do you want to come over to my house, Frankie?"

The bell rang before I could open my mouth for an answer. Disappointment showered across his face, and he jumped down from the seat he had taken. He grabbed his backpack, stuffing his sketchbook and pencil in it before slinging it over his shoulder. He turned his head, looking at the other students leave the classroom, laughing to themselves, playfully shoving each other, and screaming, "Fuck yeah! It's Friday!"

Gerard turned his head, then, to look at me, and I could tell he still wanted an answer.

I got down from my own seat, grabbing my messenger bag and putting it on my shoulder. I stared at him, smiling. "I'd love to come over to your house."

We walked back to the apartment together. We went over to my unit first, so I could drop my bag off. He was scared to intrude in my house while my mother was out, but I pulled him in, urging him that it was all right. He wondered around the place while I went off to my closet, putting my bag in there. I paused, narrowing my eyes, as I went over to my blankets, seeing a badly wrapped package on them. I picked it up and carried it out into the light of the living room. Upon better lighting, I could tell that it was a sketchbook with a couple art pencils taped to the cover, along with a note written in messy handwriting, like whoever wrote it was in a hurry. I read it and couldn't help but frown.

_Early birthday present. Love from Mum._

I stared at the book, and it was a few minutes after until I could tear my gaze away from it to look up at Gerard, who was standing beside me. "I don't know why she gave me this."

"Well, was she gonna be gone for your birthday?" Gerard asked, eyeing it.

I shook my head. "No, I mean. She usually gives me my presents early, but I don't get why she would give me a sketchbook." Gerard stared at me. "I suck ass at drawing. I like taking pictures instead."

We laughed.

I handed him the book. "Here. You can have it. I noticed how your other one was getting full."

He looked at it. "But your mom gave it to you."

I shrugged.

He took it, held it close to his chest, smiled, and murmured, "Thank you, Frank." It was like I had given him something other than a sketchbook. I tried not to over think this.

We headed to his apartment unit next. We were silent, and I felt awkward when I stepped into the place. I was cautious as I sat on the couch while he went into his room to put up his stuff. I continued glancing around, nibbling at the flesh on my lip. His house was better than mine, although, it was still small.

The living room had a good-looking couch, a couple chairs surrounding it, a coffee table, and a color TV. The kitchen had the basic machinery, a table, and four chairs. I furrowed my brow and asked Gerard about that when he walked out of his room, clutching a box.

"I have a little brother. And I have a mommy and… and the other chair is for me."

I didn't understand how that was the most adorable thing that could have came from Gerard's mouth.

"I didn't know that," I said, fighting back a smile.

"You learn something new every day, like how I found out you like taking pictures." He holds out the box he had to me. "Want a camera? Daddy gave it to me when he was still alive."

The camera turned out to a Polaroid, and it had turned my insides into mush. I loved Polaroid cameras, but I never got around to buying one for myself. Gerard insisted on us going out to the park near the apartment to take some pictures, and that's exactly what we had done.

*

The first baggy in the shoe box contains those pictures. Gerard had neatly put the date on the bag.

10.13. Fri.

I smile to myself, taking out the stack of pictures and flipping through them. Most of them are Gerard and me, acting goofy. Only a handful of them are of the park itself. I go through the pictures of Gerard and me, scanning each of them, and then my heart stops when I see the last picture in the stack. I hold it in front of my eyes, feeling my throat tighten at the sight of Gerard kissing my cheek. I put a hand over my mouth as I skim over the caption on the picture he had included.

 _Wanna sleep in the coffin with me, darling? Just one more time_?

And then, he had put a little heart beside it.

I grin and close my eyes, letting the picture drop onto the floor.

*

Gerard's family was just as poor as mine, and it didn't help his father had died several weeks before I moved into the building. Funerals cost a lot, and his mother had to chuck money out to buy a coffin. Gerard's little brother, Mikey, had tried to help his mom by looking into cremation, which was cheaper. They had decided to cremate his body, but the place where their mother had bought the coffin wouldn't let her get a refund. Assholes, right?

After our little play time at the park, Gerard had brought me back to his house to show me his father's coffin.

He reminded me to be quiet because he was sure his father's spirit was surrounding this coffin. Gerard said that his father's home was in this coffin, but he understood why they had to dispose of him another way. Gerard led me into the small spare bedroom. He closed the door behind me, and I stood in the middle of the room, staring at the coffin against the wall. There was nothing else in the room, just the coffin.

"Was this just a spare room?"

Gerard slowly nodded after hesitation. "You could say that… This was… actually his study… We still have the stuff that used to be in here, but we have it locked up somewhere."

I took this in while I stepped closer to the coffin. "It's nice."

"I know. Wanna see inside it? It's prettier on the inside."

He stepped beside me and grabbed the dark brown lid, slowly pushing it up against the wall. I was expecting a body to pop out, but it was only filled with fluffy, white cushions. I wanted to touch them, but I kept my hands to myself. Gerard nudged me with his shoulder. "Let me show you something." He kicked off his shoes and climbed into the coffin, lying back in it. He closed his eyes, sighing. He slowly opened them, and then looked up at me, beckoning me to join him. "Come on, Frankie. There's room."

I bit my lip.

"Come on."

What the hell, I did as he said.

I settled down in the space he provided beside him. I felt uncomfortable, like I shouldn't belong. I looked up at Gerard carefully, nibbling on my lip still. He smiled at me, told me not to worry, and then closed the lid down over us.

I was enveloped with darkness, and I felt claustrophobic. I reached out, putting my hands to Gerard's chest, feeling at the material on his oversized, black sweat jacket. "Gee?"

He grabbed at my wrists. "Frankie, calm down." He softly giggled. "I have to show you something."

"How can you show me something when I can't see anythi—?"

Gerard softly kissed my mouth, pressing his lips to my top lip in a nervous fashion. He stayed there for a few moments, and I widened my eyes, unsure of what to do. My chest swelled to a million pieces when he pulled away, and I realized I wanted more kisses from this teen, which was very strange. I was comfortable with my sexuality, but this feeling was so new to me, so unknown, and I really liked it.

I took a deep breath and narrowed my eyes to try and see Gerard through the darkness of the coffin. "Why did you, why did you kiss me?"

He didn't answer.

"Are you gay?"

"Daddy was the first one I ever told."

His hands went up to my sides, and his mouth was placed back onto mine.

I slowly kissed him back, my arms going to snake around his neck. We tilted our heads, trying to get closer to the other while we were in this casket, and soon, I pulled back from him, out of breath. My eyes were still closed, and one of my hands crept down to hold onto his shirt, gathering the material in a fist. "Gerard," I murmured, almost in a hushed whisper, barely audible.

He nudged his nose against mine as he kissed my cheekbone. "Yes, Frank?"

"I don't want to leave… not just yet…"

He hugged me. "You can sleep in this box with me."

Later on that night, when I had returned home after a little nap, we passed notes through the wall again. It began with me asking him if I would get to keep the pictures we had taken at the park, since he had stuck them in his back pocket whenever they popped out and developed fully.

 _You'll be able to keep them soon enough, if everything turns out all right_ , is what he had wrote back to me in that same messy handwriting.

 _What does that mean? What's going to happen_?

It took him a while before giving me the note back, and it had turned out that he didn't even answer my question.

_Would you like to go out?_

My eyes widened, and I slowly put the pen back to the paper. _Um, what?_ My heart pounded in my chest as I slid him back the paper. I looked through the wall, watching him as he eagerly grabbed the paper and practically tore it open. He gazed at the note, and his eyes slowly closed. He took a deep breath and uttered a single word—my name. "Frank?"

"Yes, Gerard?" I answered almost instantly. I was eager.

He jumped at this, and he scooted closer to the wall, ditching the paper and pencil he had in his hands. He pressed his nose to the wall, peeking into my side of the room. "Wanna go out?"

I stared at him. "I, I, I don't—"

"I meant, like, do you want to be my boyfriend?" He bit his lip. "Did you get confused by my wording?"

I slowly nodded and pushed my palm to the wall, curling my fingers to the pale paint. "Yeah. I did." I swallowed. "I would normally ask if they wanted to be my girlfriend or, um, boyfriend, in your case."

Gerard looked at me through the crack for a long time, gnawing at his lip. "You're not gay." It was a statement, not a question, but I had to correct him.

"Why did I kiss you back, then?"

He lowered his gaze. "I look like a girl." At this remark, he tugged a strand of black hair behind his ear. He sniffed, and I could hear the snot running down his throat.

I fought back a smile at this and lightly pounded the wall with my fist. Gerard raised his head at the sound. I took a deep breath before saying, "You don't look like a girl. Having long hair doesn't make you a girl. If you're saying it is… it's like saying wearing makeup makes you a girl." I smiled at this, and my eyes smile along. "I wear makeup, Gerard."

Gerard smiled right back. "I do, too."

We looked at each other for a few minutes, just taking in each other's appearance, and then, I backed up a bit, covering my face with my hands. I rubbed at my eyes and softly told him, "I would love to be your boyfriend, Gerard."

When I raised my head, I saw the other through the crack in the wall grin, like Cheshire Cat from _Alice in Wonderland_. "Thank you, Frank."

I didn't know why he thanked me.

*

Gerard had counted the visit to the park as our first date. It was only near our fourth or fifth date when we had… started to become sexual with each other. We had explored with our sexuality more. I can tell that we were both equally sexually frustrated by reading our past notes, and I can't help but to smile at them.

I can tell where my hand was shaking from fighting back the urge to yell out in my pain, and I can even see where he had drooled on some of the pieces of paper, right when I had wrote back something flirty or sexy. I smile to myself as I fold up another note and toss it back into the shoe box. I sigh, reaching in and pulling out another baggy full of pictures. There is no date on this bag, so I have no idea where these are from at first glance. I open the baggy, take out the pictures, and start flipping through them.

These are just a bunch of random pictures of Gerard and me in his house, making goofy pictures, and some romantic ones, too. We are making kissy faces to each other in a couple, and then there are some where we're actually kissing, and I can see tongue and everything.

Something inside my chest aches, and my hand goes up to press down on my sternum. I let out a cry, dropping the pictures. I put both my hands to my face, instantly starting to cry. "Gerard," I groan, falling down on my side. "Why did you have to go?"

I sniff and rub at my eyes, not wanting myself to cry any more. My tears are not meant to be here. Gerard wouldn't allow it. He would have wanted me to move on, but, then again… What if I was the one dead…? Would Gerard have moved on? I bite my lip and raise into a sitting position once more. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes, humming.

I remember when we first had sex. Of course, it's a bit cliché, saying that we lost it to each other, just like any high school sweet hearts would… It was my seventeenth birthday. Gerard was already seventeen, due to the fact that I started school a bit late. Mum had let Gerard come home after school, so he could spend the night with me, considering it was a Friday. We both had planned to go out trick-or-treating, but we ended up locked in my room all evening.

I'm glad my room can block out sound really well because I hadn't wanted my mother to hear her little boy screaming and crying from the pain of getting fucked for the first time.

But despite the pain, it was a pleasant experience. I felt really close to Gerard during it, and he helped the pain stop by murmuring to me through the whole thing, repeatedly kissing my erogenous zones, and touching my groin with light, delicate fingertips.

All that night and up into the next day—Saturday—we made love various times, each time getting a bit more easier for me, so I didn't have to cram a pillow down my throat to keep quiet.

I push my hair out from my eyes once more, and I groan to myself. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the oncoming headache, but I fear it's going to force through my boundaries. My mind drifts off to the funeral of my boyfriend, and I freeze, opening my eyes.

At the visitation, the lid to Gerard's coffin was closed.

He had just overdosed. Wouldn't they let the lid be open? His body wouldn't have been damaged to the point of making others vomit if he had swallowed a bunch of pills.

I stay in the same position for a few minutes, contemplating over what could have been the reason to why the coffin wasn't open, and then it just hits me.

My eyes widen, and I jump up from my bed, going around my room, kicking around objects, trying to find the pictures from the first baggy. I need to look at one of them.

I find them after a couple minutes. They are under my blanket. I drop to my knees, flipping through them until I reach the last one—the one of Gerard kissing my cheek. I read the caption again.

 _Wanna sleep in the coffin with me, darling? Just one more time_?

I read it over and over and over again.

"He's not really dead," I mutter under my breath. I stand up, holding the picture close to my chest. "He's not dead." I drop the picture and walk over to the door of my bedroom in a cold sweat. I open my door, taking a step out into the living room-and-kitchen combo. I glance around, not seeing Mum, so I take careful steps out of the apartment unit until I'm right by Gerard's home. I open the door of his home, surprised that the door was unlocked, push myself in, and head into the spare room, the one with the coffin in the middle.

I'm glad Gerard's mother and brother aren't around. I have no idea what I'd tell them when they see me. I just wanted to check if my boyfriend was in his father's coffin, y'know, 'cause I think he's _alive_.

Yeah, that sounds a bit crazy.

I shake my head and enter the room with the coffin in it. Nothing has changed, and I almost want to cry. I close the door behind me and walk over to the coffin, tears getting into my throat, making me choke up. I drop down to my knees, grab the lid of the coffin, lift it up, and look over the edge.

Nothing.

I feel something inside me sink, and when I go to close the coffin, I feel hands on my back, pushing me headfirst into the casket. "Get in—hurry," they say.

Once inside the coffin, I feel someone else go inside with me, and they roughly pull me toward their chest, putting a hand to my mouth, prying open my jaws, and shoving something down my throat.

My tongue wraps around the object, and I try to spit it out, but I start coughing. It tastes horribly bitter, and it makes me want to vomit. "Get it down," the one beside me coaxes, as they rub my Adam's apple.

Reluctantly, I feel the pill travel down, making my mouth and throat sore from the lack of liquid. I wince from the taste once more, and I open my mouth. "Who are you?" I try to see in the dark. "What did I just take?"

A mouth presses against my lips, and my heart leaps in my chest. "I just gave you strychnine. You'll feel the symptoms in about fifteen minutes. I already took mine a couple minutes ago…" They kiss me again. "I love you, Frank. We can be together forever."

My eyes widen. "Gerard," I choke out, starting to tear up.

He lightly touches my cheekbone. "Don't talk."

"But, but I thought you were dead."

He presses his fingertips to my lips, then. "Please be quiet. I want to savor these last few moments," he says, ignoring my statement.

Questions swim through my head, and I want to ask them, but all thoughts flood from my brain, and my eyes widen more. I attach myself to Gerard as I start to violently twitch against him. All my muscles convulse, spasm, and I start to feel Gerard's body do the very same. I groan, and I bury my head into his chest. Why didn't I spit out that pill? I hate this. It feels so terrible. It hurts.

I groan, and a wave of nausea spreads into my stomach, and the feeling to vomit increases even more.

But I try to stay perfectly still, staying with Gerard, clinging onto him, and he does the same.

And soon, air stops reaching my lungs, and I start lurching forward into Gerard, choking, opening my mouth, trying to get some oxygen. I can feel Gerard do the same. I move around in the casket, holding the other's body close to mine as I close my eyes, and let the pain of asphyxiation drown all energy from me.

I fall still, and he does, too.

I smile and tightly grasp at Gerard's hand.

He squeezes my hand back.


End file.
